My Hero
by Swyfte
Summary: A young WindClan tom finds his unlikely hero in the midst of a battle. A one-shot challenge for ImagineClan.


Frostblaze had always insisted that despite his snowy white fur and startlingly blue eyes, he was not in the least bit deaf. Now, lying on his back and staring into the cold, cruel eyes of his attacker, he wondered if he'd been slightly wrong.

He hadn't heard the black tom approach; he'd been too busy thrashing his opponent, a small ginger tom. One moment he had him wedged tightly in a corner of the camp. Next thing he knew he was sprawled on the ground, the RiverClan warrior on his chest, pinning him down. It, almost comically, wasn't fair; ShadowClan were the sneaky ones. Now the Clans' roles seemed reversed; it was RiverClan that had brashly attacked the camp and ShadowClan had nothing to do with it. WindClan's role had changed, however. They were still the victims, the targets for angry warriors. That had not changed through the seasons.

Slowly, the dark tom lowered his claws to Frostblaze's throat. Tiny pinpricks of pain stang his neck as the talons sank through his pelt and into his skin. It was all he could do to stare up at his attacker. He could dimly remember his name from several Gatherings. He was Shadefrost, a quiet and reserved warrior. Frostblaze had never thought that he would be the one to kill him. Fate wove its web in strange ways, he supposed. Sometimes it got you so tangled up you did not know which way was up or down, left or right.

This was probably one of those times.

The prospect of death terrified him. He'd never really thought about his own before, right up until several moments ago when Shadefrost had lowered his claws to Frostblaze's throat. There was a deadly promise in the cold amber pits; a promise of blood and pain. It was all he could do, to stare up at those eyes and silently plead for mercy.

_Please let me go please let me go please let me go please... _

"Last words?" Shadefrost leered, lashing his tail with the taste of triumph in the air.

"Let me go!" he gasped; Shadefrost only laughed, and prepared to deliver the death blow.

Frostblaze clenched his eyes shut, and prayed to StarClan that his end would be quick. It was because of this miniscule action that he almost missed his own rescue.

While he waiting for the strike that never came, a sudden shape appeared out of thin air and bowled into Shadefrost with a ferocious yowl. Frostblaze cracked open his eyes; all he caught was a glimpse of grey. The pair thudded into the ground. The grey blur landed on top and solidified into the thin, wiry form of a she-cat.

Though the heavy weight had disappeared from his chest and his lungs screamed for air, all Frostblaze could do was gape at his savior. Was there a more unlikely hero?

Perhaps the loss of air had gone to his head; all he could see, as his heroine drove Shadefrost away with a slash of her claws, was a smudge of colours, a kaleidoscope of shapes and blacks and browns and fuzzy greys. It was not an exactly masculine maneuver, fainting, but all Frostblaze could feel was relief as he slid away from consciousness.

...

When he dreamed, it was more a memory; several, to be precise. The first was recent: the beginning of the battle.

_Frostblaze struggled out of his nest and stretched his stiff muscles with a yawn. Sleeping in a shallow hole in the ground could be tough on old bones, but moss was in scarce supply, on the moors and what little there was to be found was donated to the medicine den._

_The white tom headed for the fresh-kill pile. He brushed by a grey she-cat like she was little more than an insubstantial shadow. She, wordlessly, moved out of the way and Frostblaze arrived at the dwindling heap of prey unhindered. There wasn't much, mainly rabbits and hares. Frostblaze picked a scrawny rabbit and dragged it off to eat with his brother, Snowstreak. They shared a quiet meal before Snowstreak was called off on a patrol._

_Mere minutes later, a warning yowl pierced the frigid air and a torrent of cats poured into WindClan's open camp. The fishy tang of RiverClan invaded his nose. At the head of the group, a sleek creamy-golden she-cat halted the party with a wave of her elegant tail. The WindClan warriors backed cautiously away, to the fringes of the camp._

_"Burrstar!" she cried. The brown-pelted tom shouldered his way out of his den, bleary eyed and squinting against the bright morning sun._

_"Yes?" he replied, scanning the rows of snarling RiverClan warriors with a defiant expression. His mouth was set in a hard line._

_The she-cat narrowed her eyes. "You've stolen RiverClan prey," she accused. A rowdy cheer worked its way up her ranks._

_Burrstar straightened his shoulders. "We've done no such thing, Ivystar," he replied stiffly. Frostblaze, the loyal warrior that he was, could not detect the tremulous lie in his leader's voice. _

_But Ivystar sensed the weakness. The beautiful she-cat was already flying through the air before she shrieked, "Attack!" to her warriors. No further prompting was needed; they swarmed sinuously forwards with violent promises in their smirks and leers. Frostblaze found himself facing off with a large tabby tom. He neatly sidestepped as the burly warrior hurled his bulk at him, and raked his claws down the RiverClan oaf's side. He grunted and lumbered around to glare at Frostblaze. Given his weight, it was a surprise he could even swim._

_The tabby leapt again. This time Frostblaze wasn't so quick. As he turned to run, the warrior's outstretched paws slipped his flank and sent him crashing into the dust. Without a backwards glance, his white fur sullied, he leapt to his paws and ran into the seething fray of battling cats._

That was when the first memory ended. He spent a while drifting in the black depths of his mind before another dream sucked him in. This one was a little blurred around the edges; he thought he'd forgotten it, was embarrassed he hadn't.

_He was Frostpaw, and he was a few moons into his apprentice training. Already he'd lost his fluffy kitten fur and lean muscles lurked beneath his pelt. He could hunt, fight, and more importantly he could _run._ It had been denied to him in he first six moons of life, and now it seemed he was making up for lost time; when he started to race across the moors and wide, open fields, he simply could not stop. He was here, suddenly he was there, like a flash of white lightening. Sometimes, he forgot he was hunting and would dart right past his intended prey._

_Was it strange, that was of his worst memories should've been another cat's proudest moment? Despicable, abhorrent?_

_It was an apprentice ceremony. Burrstar had not yet become leader; he was Burrclaw, the young deputy. The aged tom Webstar lead WindClan. The day he picked for the apprenticeship was beautifully cloudless. The sky was blue and the heather sang in the gentle, cooling breeze._

_"Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey gather in the camp for a Clan meeting!" Webstar cried, in a loud, dramatic voice. Frostpaw couldn't exactly remember the long sequence of words that followed; his attention was riveted by someone else. To be exact, it was the newly named Stormpaw. She was a dazzling young she-cat with luminous blue eyes, silver pelt and a radiant expression. Her presence reduced her sister to little more than a grey shadow beside her._

_Frostpaw was sure he cheered her name the loudest, among the clamour of cries. The chant of Mistpaw's name, her sister, was somewhat more subdued. Her fur was a dull grey, with eyes the colour of a pale, washed-out stream. Where her sister was bold, she was hesitant and shy. It was no wonder, really, that she was overlooked in favour of Stormpaw._

_After the ceremony, Frostpaw went to the special trouble of salvaging moss scraps and digging a new scrape in the ground for Stormpaw. He patted the moss down and furnished it with a few soft, downy feathers. Her eyes sparkled when she entered the den. Her sleek fur remained perfectly groomed, despite her tour of the territory, and she thanked him profusely for the nest when she saw that all he had was a dirty depression._

_They had an amiable conversation after that, right up until Mistpaw squeezed through the den's entrance. She, in stark contrast to her immaculate sister, was dishevelled and dusty. She shuffled in with her eyes downcast and stopped beside her sister, searching a nest. There wasn't a spare, however; with such a large crop of apprentices, they had all been taken. Eventually she stopped searched and swept a small corner of the den free of dust with her tail. She curled up without a sound. Her soft blue eyes narrowed._

_"I _nearly_ caught a rabbit today!" Stormpaw exclaimed. "It was sitting right there and I missed by that much!" She threw her paws apart for emphasis._

_"I caught a frog. I think it hopped over from ShadowClan," Mistpaw whispered. Frostpaw threw her an irritated glance; couldn't she see he was having the conversation of his life?_

_"Well, don't sleep anywhere near me. I bet you stink of frogs now. Eww," he sneered, wrinkling his nose. Stormpaw paused for a moment, before laughing._

_Mistpaw tucked her muzzle under her paws, mortified._

That was not his only memory teasing- bullying, some called- Mistpaw. It was only the first of many occurrences. It was simply where the dreams ended and he woke up splayed on the medicine den's floor. There was a sparse nest of nest beneath him, and his numerous wounds were tightly bound with cobwebs. His white pelt was smeared with poultices; he reeked of marigold, goldenrod and dock, and other herbs he could not name.

All was quiet outside the den; there was only the sound of the wind chasing itself over the moors. Inside was another story. The groaning of injured cats was a ceaseless cacophony. several were snoring deeply. The medicine cat and her apprentice were murmuring in the corner, bunches of herbs piled at their feet.

Frostblaze did not realize he had a visitor until he turned his feet and found himself staring at a dainty pair of grey paws. His eyes traveled up the legs until he reached a face; he knew it well. He'd bullied it for almost all his life. It was also belonged to the cat who had saved him from a certain grisly demise.

"Mistfur," he rasped. Her ears fluttered at her acknowledgement. She looked surprised at being treated like more than a shadow.

"Hey," she mumbled, sitting down hesitantly and wrapping her short tail around her paws. "I just wanted to see, err, if you were, you know, okay."

Frostblaze grimaced. "Well, I'm not dead, thanks to you." Mistfur, once the naive Mistpaw, didn't seem sure if this was a compliment. She just nodded, her teal eyes lowered.

The white tom gave a colossal effort and heaved himself into a somewhat upright position, despite the protesting twinges from his wounds.

Mistfur gaped at him and looked alarmed. "No!" she exclaimed. "You should lie down. You're injured!"

"No," he grunted, shaking his head. "Are you alright?" You're not injured?"

"I'm fine," she said, ducking her head and twisting her body to hide the long scratch that stretched down her side.

"Have you gone to see Stormwing?" he asked, flicking his tail in her sister's vague direction. Mistfur bit her lip and nodded.

"Umm, I should go now," she muttered, looking uncomfortable. Frostblaze couldn't help but wonder if all his 'teasing' resulted in her anti-social behaviour. She stood up suddenly and backed towards the slim den entrance. The dim light framed her small body; the tips of her fur glowed white. Her eyes were bright in the darkness.

"Wait," Frostblaze called, and she paused. Her halo continued to shine.

"I just wanted to thank you properly. You saved my life...and I know I didn't deserve after how I treated you."

Mistfur looked mortified; once again. She'd always hated unnecessary attention, but she'd have to get used to it- Frostblaze made a grim promise to plunge his heroine into the limelight t every opportunity in the nicest possible way.

* * *

**Yay, another challenge for ImagineClan!**


End file.
